I was always a Daddy's Girl. I loved to be wherever my dad was. I loved the feel of his face after he shaved, the sound of his voice, even the smell of him.
I miss him. I miss him at strange times, not when you'd expect it. I didn't miss him at our wedding or at the birth of our boys. I did miss him, though, when I opened his tackle box six years after he had died and the finger nail clippers he always used to cut the fishing line were open like he'd just used them. I miss him when Tim is outside grilling and my mama is helping me in the kitchen and I know that, if my dad was here, he'd be out there, standing around the grill, talking about whatever it is guys talk about when they stand around the grill. I miss him when our boys are being particularly ornery because I know, if he was here, he would encourage them!! I miss him when my mama goes places by herself and I know she wishes he could go with her....
...but I wouldn't change the story. I couldn't change the story because, if I changed even one part of the story, it would change the whole thing. It's all part of who I am and who I am becoming. I'm even thankful for the story.
"...and I know there'll be days when this life brings me pain, but if
that's what it takes to praise you...Jesus bring the rain!!"--Mercy Me